Lady Muck

Emma Jones, 25, daughter of a millionaire and a diamond heiress, is an It girl and TV presenter, infamous for trysts with James Hewitt and footballer Dwight Yorke. She is single, has two flats in Chelsea and drives a BMW Z4. Emma says:

The first thing that struck me about the farm was the stench. It made me retch and I wanted to head straight back to London. Until then I'd had a romantic vision of an idyllic week in the country.

But the grim reality was a pig farm in Co. Durham, freezing cold weather and a smell that penetrates everything from your skin and hair to your clothes and shoes.

I should have had an inkling of what I was letting myself in for when farmer's wife Tracey Betney picked us up from Darlington station looking dishevelled in an old fleece and dirty jeans. She looked as if she hadn't brushed her hair for days.

When she opened the car door, the smell was so bad I thought there were actually pigs in there.

The interior was covered in dog hair, pig poo and straw. I winced as she threw my Louis Vuitton handbags and luggage into the boot, gritted my teeth and clambered in beside her. But when we commented on the unusual aroma, she laughed, saying this was the 'good' car.

The smell really began to hit us in earnest as we approached the farm. Alex and I instinctively held our breath until we realised there was no point. The smell was everywhere.

Tracey introduced us to the rest of the family - her husband, Matthew, 39, two sons William, 11, and Thomas, seven (all dressed in jeans, fleeces and thick woolly socks compared to our designer attire).

Inside the house I got another shock. My first thought was: 'Where's the cleaner?' Nothing is ever out of place in my flat in Chelsea with its tasteful, muted colours and designer furniture. But this was chaos.

Alex and I were to share the bunks in William's room, which was decorated in awful Aston Villa colours. I insisted I had the larger bottom bed because I'm used to a queen-size mattress.

The sheets, though clean, were a far cry from my Italian silk ones from Harrods.

Tracey then showed us their master suite, which was a tip, with clothes strewn on the dirty floor. I couldn't believe anyone could live like that.

Ominously there was a bucket of water - at least, I presumed it was just water - in the corner by the bed.

As I learned during my stay, it's impossible to keep the house clean when you are tramping in from the farmyard all day, and there's no domestic help. But I couldn't live like that.

Worst of all, there was only one bathroom for the six of us. Thankfully, there was a shower because I wasn't going to bathe in the tub, which I suspect doubled up as a place to wash their two filthy dogs. I certainly didn't dare leave my towel in there.

As Alexandra and I sat in our new room, we could hear a gut-wrenching sound of squealing outside, from